


Isolation is Overrated

by orphan_account



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Puppet History (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Freeform, Introspection, One Night Stands, One Shot, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:13:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26654968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Now, Shane Madej cancertainlystop and take a moment to think about just how he got into the situation that currently befalls him - and really, befalls is an ill-suited word, and he’d useblessingif he were the religious sort - but something about having your neck bit and licked at tends to render one a little befuddled.
Relationships: Shane Madej/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	Isolation is Overrated

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks Buzzfeed Unsolved, without discovering you I would have gone my whole life not knowing I'm attract to 6'4 rat men (and I say that with the utmost love). Special shout out to _procrastinating-my-other-writing-in-favor-of-writing-this_ , and the rabbit hole that led me to _Puppet History._
> 
> Seriously though, I find there is a severe lack of Shane Madej/anyone other than Ryan fanfiction. Not bagging on that ship, I think that's cute ngl, but I mainly wrote this for self fulfillment. For the record, I don't often write real person fanfiction, but dammit I could not help it and I regret nothing.

Shane is well aware the ‘grace’ period from his last relationship had long since passed, and there really isn’t any excuse for his lack of interest despite simply being that - he’s just not interested in the dating pool, not even the urge to dip his toe in to test the water, _nothing_. 

He’s taken to burying himself in his work, and hasn’t left his apartment going on a week now, so far the longest he had been able to hole himself away. Crafting and writing diligently for the next episode of _Puppet History._

It’s as he’s hot-gluing the wooden popsicle stick onto the cutout of a stereotypical eighteenth century concubine that his phone rings, his finger slips and dips into the hot glue and he swears, drawing back and shaking his hand in the air. In a brevity of self reflection, the man wonders just what _exactly_ he’s doing with his life; he glares at the cutout dropped onto the table, mixing together with the surrounding myriad of art supplies that look too much like a kindergartener’s desk during craft time.

A brief glance at his phone shows the ill-timed picture of Ryan, looking half-aware and, _he remembers this vividly_ , grinning moments before walking into a street sign. 

Shane swipes the call button and tucks the phone between his ear and upraised shoulder, busying himself with peeling off the now crooked popsicle stick from the concubine cutout.

“Yeah.” Is all he says. Ryan is quick to jump right into it, and Shane should have known his bestfriend would eventually intervene in his self isolation. 

“Mari’s having a party tonight, and she’s inviting a bunch of her friends from the business -” Ryan explains, and Shane’s sure this is venturing into _making connections_ territory, until he says something about single actresses and meeting new people and Shane can’t stop the groan that escapes him. 

“If this is some convoluted plan to set me up with another blind date, Ry - “ 

“It’s not! You just need to come out of the cave every once in a while. No obligations, no blind dates. It’s just a small get together, and I know you’re tired of cutting out paper puppets.” Ryan says, matter-a-fact. 

He’s right, and Shane wants to be a little irked by that, but instead he finds himself in a stare down with the Professor, propped up against the wall at the edge of his too-small desk with those bulbus, unblinking eyes. 

“Yeah, alright.” 

* * *

Now, Shane Madej can certainly stop and take a moment to think about just _how_ he got into the situation that currently befalls him - and really, befalls is an ill-suited word, and he’d use _blessing_ if he were the religious sort - but something about having your neck bit and licked at tends to render one a little befuddled. 

He can think about the way she looked across the room (and also take a fleeting moment to appreciate the triteness of it), and how for the first time since highschool he was simply _struck_ with the presence of another person. Although Shane would gladly proclaim, Julia Brown from junior year couldn’t hold a candle to the woman that he saw then. 

Admittedly, generic beauty is something that never really tickled his fancy; thin waists, accentuated features, long hair - superficial and quite honestly, _mundane_ in his opinion. The girl who caught his attention was two for three, although her waist was thin, he appreciated the way her floral dress cinched there, hanging off her narrow hips to caper just above her knees. And although her hair was long, the unnatural plum hue of it contrasted artfully with the her olive skin. Her face was soft and natural, inviting - Shane found it surprisingly difficult to take his eyes off her. 

The gold bracelets around her wrist jingle in his ears as she runs her fingers through his unkempt hair. She tastes like liquor and a modicum of something sweeter, purple hair brushing his cheeks in a veil as she straddles him. 

_“Your Mari’s friend, right? So, are you into the whole ‘Hollywood business’, too?” Shane had asked, moments after tipping back the remainder of his red solo’s contents. It was Ryan’s coined iteration of a Long Island, and the cacophony of liquor seemed to burn their own separate lines down his throat, settling warmly in the pit of his stomach like a miniature sun._

_The scrunch of her nose and the cartoonish poke of her tongue had Shane immediately take a liking, but her response was the cherry on top._

_“Oh,_ God _no.” Running a hand through her colored hair, her bracelets clinking together softly, she tacked on, “Even if I believed, I’d rather sell my soul to something that might offer a refund.”_

There’s a dull ache beneath his jaw where she bit him, one hand gripping his hair knuckles to skull, the other slipped between their bodies, hidden away by the bunched fabric of her dress. The pain is not unpleasant, Shane thinks, his fingers around her waist - and then she wraps her fingers around him, guides him in, and the proverbial stars whisk around his head as the air is knocked from his lungs, catching sound with a low groan. 

She whines, and tugs his hair, and Shane can feel her legs trembling as she descends to settle flush on his lap, encompassing him with her salacious heat and the gentle waft of her perfume. 

She has an accent, something gently lilting and exotic - _Italian_ , _maybe?_ \- but he can’t really tell now. Her voice has stripped down to the basics; breathy sighs, sharp moans, the occasional high gasp. Her bracelets continue to jingle in his ears as she curls her fingers into his shoulders and dances atop him. 

_“So, not a performer - what brings you to this soulless soiréé, then?” Shane gestured with a broad swipe of his empty cup, the throngs of entertainers around them bustling loudly._

_“Never said I wasn’t a performer. Just not searching for the lime-light, is all.” She replied, offering a goading quirk of her brow. Shane mirrored her, imploring her to continue as she took a delicate sip of her drink._

_“Oh, that’s baiting if I ever knew it - what kind of performer are you?” He finally relented, and she laughed at the insinuation there. Shane appreciated her ability to take the unsaid joke, and dared a step closer._

_Not surprisingly, he towered, and she had to look up. Her eyes glimmered with a verdant mischief beneath the ceiling light of Ryan’s living room._

Shane can’t recall a time where he felt the urge to say someone’s name during sex. Something about calling out a lover’s name in the thick of it came across old-hat and, if he’s being honest, a tad cringe. The thought comes to him in the midst of a stupor - one where he’s mesmerized by the fluidity of her movements, tongue-tied and rendered to crass groans of, ‘oh god’ and ‘fuck’, and the occasional ‘Jesus!’. 

He thinks if there’s ever a time to call out the names of a divine, it would be to their face, against their lips, along the cusp of their jaw. He wishes he knew her name just for the sake of praising her, and he would be reverent and sacrilegious in equal balance. 

She throws her head back, takes hold of the hair back of his head, and moans out, 

_“Oh, mio -”_

_Italian_ , Shane thinks, as he follows the tendon of her neck to her ear with his teeth, moaning lowly as she glides her hips forward and back. 

_“Musicals, plays - I’d say the closest to sell-your-soul territory would be Broadway. I’ve always wanted to stand on that stage.” She mused.  
_

_“Enough to sign your name with a demon quill?” He jested._

_She laughed, "_ _Do you think the Devil deals in time shares? Like, do I have to spend all of eternity down there, or is there the option of a summer lake house?”_

_They laughed together, their conversation growing intimate as Shane moved closer. How strange, being surrounded but feeling isolated. A phenomenon Shane knows well, but that time he wasn’t alone in his bubble._

_“No, all joking aside. I’m actually a bit of a musical enthusiast myself.”  
_

_She gave him a broad smile, and Shane almost felt bad._

_“Oh, really?”  
_

_“Yeah, I mean - I’ve written a few numbers.”  
_

_“And they’ve been accepted? What have you written for?”  
_

_Shane gave a near timorous chuckle, scratching the back of his head absently._

_“It’s actually a thing I do online,” He began, and she quirked her head curiously. “It’s uh...called Puppet History. Sounds a bit absurd, but ah...Well, there was supposed to be a joke somewhere in here, but I’ve got nothing.”  
_

_And then, with Shane waiting for a response and suddenly realizing just how hot Ryan’s apartment was, she laughed._

_“Are there any open positions?”  
_

It’s as she bows forward, pressing her forehead against Shane’s with a shuddering moan that he realizes how overrated isolation is. 

There wouldn’t be the feeling of her, the quiver of her thighs on either side his waist, the near whimper she gives when he bucks up against her, the desperation that lit his nerve endings in pursuit of losing himself to another, rather than himself. 

She breathes hotly against him, clasping his head between either palm as she gathers herself. Shane hasn’t found his release yet, but he finds that he doesn’t really mind all that much, not when he can feel her body convulse with damn near every muscle. With haste she kisses him, takes his lower lip between her teeth and nips it hard enough to sting.

He realizes he may have some undiscovered fire within him, as the pain sends a spike directly down his spine, gathering in his groin. He lets out a resonate moan, his fingers splayed against her thighs curling to dig into the muscle there.

Lifting her dress by the hem, she breaks the kiss and tugs it off with one swift movement before coming back in, as though feeling incomplete without one another. They kiss brief and fierce before she pulls back enough to pant “Bed.” 

Shane definitely agrees, and filled with heat of the moment bravado he wraps an arm tight around her lower back and pushes himself from the sofa. The sound she gives is somewhere between a squeak and a swear, and Shane likes that he can’t quite describe it. 

Making his way further into his quaint apartment, feeling her kiss and bite at his neck, Shane passes his desk, littered still with a plethora of craft supplies. Sitting against the wall is the Professor, unblinking eyes and puppet hinge mouth agape. He gingerly turns him around, redirecting him to the wall. 

He can both feel and hear her laugh against his neck, having caught his little moment. 

_“It is a bit of a one man act, but I think we can figure something out. Any experience with stage tech?” He offered, giving a comically pointed look._

_“A performer, too!” She replied with an exaggerated look of surprise,_ _“Is the stage cardboard? If so, I’ve got plenty of experience with hot glue guns and the like.”_

_Shane couldn’t suppress the grin that split his face, a scintilla of deeper intrigue fluttering about in his stomach. He feigned thought for all of three seconds, before giving a nod of his head._

_“Yep! You got the job - I mean, the last guy couldn’t figure out the safety scissors.”_

_“Well then, how soon can I start?”_

She makes a muffled joke about Shane being a performer, and he laughs, squeezes her waist and veers into his bedroom. 

Yeah, isolation is overrated. 

**Author's Note:**

>  **As a cautionary disclaimer** , isolation is certainly not overrated when it comes to real life scenarios...Like, idk, a pandemic or something along those lines... _Anywho,_ Feedback and concrit is so greatly appreciated, and you have yourself a lovely day, sunshine. :)


End file.
